Grains Of Silver
by Muriel Candytuft
Summary: Bernard hates quiet time alone because it makes him remember. Unfortunately for him, time alone is all you get when you're under house arrest.


Grains of Silver

A/N: Hi, everybody! Well, it's finally Christmas time, and we all know that means more stories in this category! This is my first Santa Clause fanfic, so be nice. I accept feedback of any kind, reviews or flames. (I won't like the flames, but I'll take them anyway.) I've not notes for a more comedic story, but as this is shorter, and we all know it's easier to write angst than comedy, this came first. Anyway. On with the story. This is how I imagine Bernard might have felt during his house arrest in Santa Clause 2. Hope you enjoy drowning in angst. I do!

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House arrest meant nothing to do. No work to distract the mind. No voices to break the silence.

Bernard slouched at his desk, with nothing better to do than watch his hourglass. He stared numbly as millions of sparkling grains of silver sand slipped downwards through the carved glass.

He didn't imagine being here two days ago. Not when Santa still had his magic. But one night, Bernard had glanced at his watch and become very alarmed. He had made himself a watch like Santa's so he could monitor the big guy's magic use.

He'd warned Santa about letting the magic level drop. And the magic level dropped.

_It's cool_, Bernard had lied to himself when the magic reached zero. _This changes nothing. We'll just work around it. We'll figure something out_.

Then the Toy Santa had gone out of control.

A shrill beep jolted Bernard's mind, making him jump. He glanced down at the clunky monitoring device on his wrist. The Toy Santa had installed it to ensure he didn't get away. It was equipped with a pager and a two-way radio so the Toy Soldiers and the elves could keep tabs on him. Bernard punched down the button for the microphone. "What?" he snapped.

"Sir, it's Abby," a small voice crackled back from the radio. "Routine check."

"I'm fine," Bernard mumbled back, hiding his surprise that now the cocoa-toting elf-maiden had been assigned to guard him now.

A moment passed before Abby replied, "All right. Contact me if you need anything. I'll be here until midnight. Abby, out."

A quiet click let Bernard know that she had hung up. He bit his lips, biting back the urge to call her and beg her to talk to him. He would welcome anybody's conversation right now, even Curtis's. Anybody--just to break the silence. He hated the silence because it dug up memories.

_Memories of silent meals with his parents when he was young. His father, Nicholas, would glare at him from the other end of the table, but he wouldn't speak. He never spoke to Bernard if his grades in school fell below perfect. Nicholas demanded excellence from his son; he wanted success for him. Bernard's mother, Keaton, would sit passively on the other end of the table, once in a while saying, "Nicholas, he's only 800."_

_It's what was best for me,_ Bernard told himself, but a voice in his head whispered back, _Was it really_?

Well, he'd become successful, like Nicholas had always wanted. He'd become the Head Elf. But what good did that title do him? It was only a title, Bernard realized. All titles aside, he was really just like any other elf.

Bernard went back to staring at his hourglass; at the tiny, silver particles under gravity's sway. What kind of contribution were those grains of sand making to the grand scheme of things? What were they accomplishing? And what was he accomplishing, sitting there, watching them fall? What was he accomplishing, with his lofty title of Head Elf?

Nothing. He was worth nothing. The sand in the hourglass was worth nothing. It could do nothing but fall, like silver tears.

Tears. That was one luxury his father never permitted him to have.

_One day Bernard was pushed to his breaking point. He was only 800 years old, but he'd already developed a strong dependency on logic. Today, his father's words defied logic. Nicholas, perched at his desk in the living room, scanned Bernard's report card. Then he scanned his son. Bernard was used to being scanned, searched for any shortcoming, but today, Nicholas's eyes made him uneasy._

_"You made 99 out of 100 on your calculus test," Nicholas said curtly._

_Keaton glanced up from her paperwork. "That's wonderful!"_

_Bernard smiled slightly at his mother's congratulation._

_"No, it isn't," Nicholas snapped. He glared at his son. "What happened?"_

_"I--I didn't understand the first problem," Bernard explained lamely._

_Nicholas shoved the report card aside. "There is no room in a successful elf's life for misunderstanding. You've made 100 on your tests before. What stopped you this time?"_

_"I'm sorry," Bernard could only stammer._

_Keaton tried to rescue him. "Nicholas, he's only 800--"_

_"I should know how old my own son is, Keaton; stay out of this!"_

_Normally this would have humbled Keaton into silence, but now she stood up, small and confident. "_Bernard is not you_, Nicholas. Stop trying to make him you!"_

_Nicholas shot her one scathing glare before turning his attention back to his son. "All right, you aren't me. But bless God, you're going to turn out successful, or you're no son of mine."_

_"I'm trying as hard as I can--" Bernard started to protest._

_"Well, you're not trying hard enough."_

_There was Bernard's breaking point. He sank onto the sofa next to his mother and sobbed into his hands._

_Nicholas stood up, flinging his desk chair backwards. "Now what's your problem? Stop that!"_

_Bernard tried to quell his tears, but they only came harder and faster._

_"I'm doing everything I can for you, and this is how you pay me back. Wow, don't I feel like the best father in the North Pole now."_

_"Nicholas, stop it." Keaton glared at him. "I'm sure you cried when you were young."_

_Nicholas's jawline hardened. "Once. But my father slapped me. And I could do the same to you, Bernard. So, are we going to take care of this the easy way, or the hard way?"_

_Bernard gritted his teeth and swallowed his urge to cry._

That had been the last time Bernard cried. Since then he'd been in control; his emotions kept at bay. There was no room for tears in his successful life.

But was this really _his _life? Or was this the life Nicholas had wanted for him?

Who cared anymore?

Bernard shoved the hourglass aside, threw his head down on his desk, and wept for the first time in two thousand years. He again experienced the pain that came with tears. His throat was tight, and his stomach felt as though it had been punched with every breath he took. His face burned as tears tracked down them, falling to gather on his desktop. His sobs began soundless, but eventually escalated into loud groans.

This time, though, he didn't try to stop it.

It was almost an hour before Bernard's tears subsided. Gasping and wiping his eyes, he glanced at his hourglass. The sand had long since settled into the bottom of the glass.

Then came the agony after the tears--the silence.

And nobody to break it.

Bernard turned his hourglass over and the rain of silver sand started again.

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A little disjointed, I suppose, but hey--it's just after Thanksgiving and I'm wore out. I baked four pies, two casseroles, and I forget what else. Oh, and it took me a _week _to upload this story because the site was being stupid, so I hope it's good. Merry Christmas, everyone! Review?


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